Chapter 32
Raffi
There was nothing for him to do. Raffi woke up in his bed in a cold sweat. He felt he’d had nightmares all last night but couldn’t remember them distinctly. Not that it mattered; he was pushed into a living nightmare. One where Ani ran away from him and wouldn’t answer his texts or calls.
He couldn’t believe it. He’d finally found someone he loved, but he couldn’t hang on to her.
They may have had a chance to work things out during the wedding, but then he had to go and ruin it and basically threaten that he’d never get back together with her if she dumped him, that he couldn’t take it.
What the hell kind of scared little boy sentiment was that?
He knew he was stronger than that. Fuck. Fuck.
He puttered around his house, having no motivation to work out, no appetite. His inbox was begging to be attended to, but he had no desire to do so.
Then his phone buzzed, and he was a fool to even think for a second it would be Ani.
It was his book club group chat wondering how the wedding went.
He could have ignored it or sent back a generic “Great!” but decided maybe he needed some advice.
He wanted to take action. He knew that if he told Mad, Bad, and Dangerous about what happened, they wouldn’t shame him; they would help him.
He texted them back, I blew it. Not the wedding. Ani.
Immediately texts rained in, asking him what happened, and when he told them the last thing he’d said to Ani—wincing while he typed it—and then about the photographer in the bushes, there was quiet for a moment.
Then several sad-face emojis and more than one “Oh no…”s.
He told them he knew he’d made a mistake but wasn’t sure how to make it up to Ani.
Then there was a knock at his door. That was strange.
No one ever came to his door. Ani. Maybe it would be Ani.
He threw down his phone and ran toward the door, hoping despite himself.
But then he saw the outline. Someone very tall, large.
Not Ani. He slowed his pace and his heart rate slowed, crushed once again.
An idiot twice over this morning, thinking she’d reach out to him in any way after what he’d said to her.
When he opened the door, he found his father standing there. With…a cane. Holy shit. That was new.
Raffi stepped aside and let his father in. His dad carefully walked over to the dining room table, pulled out a chair, and sat, taking in the view. Raffi joined him. The two men sat in silence.
“The wedding went well,” his dad said in Armenian.
Was this an olive branch? Interesting.
“Yes, it did. And judging by the number of emails in our inbox, we’re going to have a very full roster.”
His father raised an eyebrow, just slightly. “How many did you receive?”
Raffi pulled out his phone, checked the winery’s inbox, which he had only glanced at earlier, scrolled, and had to click to the next fifty emails before he reached the end.
“At least seventy,” he said. Raffi clicked on one and skimmed it.
“People want to travel in for it, too. This couple is from Washington.”
Raffi’s dad nodded slowly, thinking. “We raise the booking fees, and if we have a wedding forty or so Saturdays of the year, we’ll be in the black.”
“And if we do more than forty, we might make a decent profit.”
“People will also want to get married on Fridays and…Sundays.” His father crossed himself at this blasphemy, but Raffi knew despite his religious objections he wouldn’t turn down those Franklins.
“This is good,” Moushegh said, nodding.
Raffi realized this was it; this was the moment his father acknowledged that Raffi did, in fact, have a good idea, that he had succeeded.
He wasn’t going to get much else, not now, not with their relationship so damaged over the years.
But it was a start. A tiny flame of warmth that had been long dormant now sparked.
Although somehow, even with that, he still felt run through, clawed at. What was this all without Ani?
“This is all good,” his father repeated, “yet you look like shit.”
Raffi almost laughed but just said, “Thanks.”
“Is it because you ruined things with that girl, Ani?” his father asked.
Raffi snapped to attention. “How do you know?”
Moushegh tapped a knuckle on the table. “I’m no idiot. I was watching you all night. Yesterday, compared to the hinoum, something big had changed. And I’m sure you’re to blame.”
“I mean—not entirely, but partly, yes,” Raffi said.
“Don’t put this on her. It’s time to man up.”
Raffi rolled his eyes. “We’ve talked about this. You and I don’t agree on what that means.”
“Raffi. Let’s put that aside for a moment. Do you love this woman?”
Raffi took a deep breath. It felt so vulnerable to talk about this with his dad. Raffi didn’t share. So tentatively, he said, “Yes.”
Moushegh nodded. “It is time to show her that whatever you did, you are sorry. That no matter what, you are there for her.”
“Dad, I—”
His dad wasn’t done. He charged on. “Men don’t beg. Except—except—when it comes to women. When it’s a woman you love, you must get down on your knees and grovel.” Then he stared at his shoes and his voice softened. “I should have done that with your mother years ago. Now it is too late.”
Raffi’s heart seized with sadness. His father’s regrets about his mom. The things they’d said to each other. How his father never ran after his mother and brought her back. He could have gotten on a plane and gone to her. But he hadn’t. And he regretted it. That meant so much.
“Mom’s coming home for Christmas. She texted me.” He ventured a look at his father, who seemed to be considering this, slightly lightened. Raffi said, “Maybe not too late?”
His father nodded once. “Maybe.”
Raffi felt a surge of hope. If his father, stalwart that he was, after years of acting one way, after so much loss, could change in his older age, then maybe Raffi hadn’t completely ruined things with Ani.
Maybe, even after his mistakes, after what had gone wrong between them, it wasn’t too late for him, either.
There was still time to fight for what mattered.
He knew it. He just felt it. This was not his and Ani’s final chapter. They were meant to be together, to grow old together, on one pillow, as the Armenian saying went. It was on him to fix it.
“For now,” his father added, “concentrate on turning this place from a bachelor pad into a family home.”
“I’ll think about that.” Raffi smiled. He couldn’t help it.
There was so much he and his father disagreed on, but this was one definition of masculinity he could get behind.
Being there for his family. Supporting, loving, no matter what.
He realized that this was the kind of care his father had always wanted to show his mother, but somewhere along the line he had decided that working hard and providing money was the only kind of support he was “allowed” to give.
And it led to so much misery in their family, especially after Sevan died.
But now his father, in his own way, seemed to be trying to tell Raffi to do better than him. And he would. He would.
“Got any kebabs in the fridge?” his dad asked.
“For breakfast?”
“Son, it’s always kebab time.”
Raffi laughed, a genuine laugh that eased his cracked heart the tiniest bit. There was still so much work to do, and he wasn’t sure where to start. Maybe his book club would have an idea.